That Control You Love
by TheFreshApple
Summary: Summary: At Academy Prep, the drum major is one of the most uptight, rule-abiding members of the student body and the mascots like a challenge.  Bones/Kirk, eventually Bones/Kirk/Spock, mentions of Kirk/Sulu and Chekov/Sulu.  High school!AU.


**Disclaimer can be found on author's personal page.**

**Title:** That Control You Love

**Summary: **At Academy Prep, the drum major is one of the most uptight, rule-abiding members of the student body and the mascots like a challenge. Bones/Kirk, eventually Bones/Kirk/Spock, mentions of Kirk/Sulu and Chekov/Sulu. High school!AU.

**A/N:** This came into my brain during a college football game, and let me tell you – it's not easy to come up with slashy smut while your friends are reading over your shoulder. Just so you know, I love everything about football season, so any bashing of cheerleaders, mascots, athletes, etc., is purely for the sake of the story.

This is my "I'm so sorry about BEG, and I have a new chapter on the way, and I just got back from Omaha, so gimme a few days and it will be up for you all to read, so please forgive me!" smutty oneshot. To prove that I really, _truly_ do love you guys.

**Warnings: **underage (Jim is 17), threesome, rimming, barebacking, and voyeurism.

* * *

><p>The hallways parted in silent admiration for the boy everyone just knew as "Spock." His first name was a mystery; the entire percussion section boasted the theory that he didn't have one. He had led Academy Prep straight to two national championships and was well on his way to racking up a third. It was unheard of for a sophomore to be drum major and succeed, but he had done so with flying colors. Now, in his senior year, he was looking at the greatest victory in the school's record.<p>

There were rumors, of course. Rumors that Spock didn't sleep, didn't eat, didn't have a social life, didn't do his own homework, did his own homework but paid off the teachers to pass him in all of his classes, did his own homework and was an A student because he had a computer for a brain. The trumpets thought he was a robot, programmed to succeed and lead the school's militaristic marching band to many victories.

Spock ignored all of them. He heard all of the whispers with ears finely-tuned by years of musical training, but he didn't pay them any mind; he knew that he was the best drum major the school had seen in generations. His parents encouraged him in all of his endeavors, and the school's record reflected positively back onto his resume. Any college marching band would gladly take him with so many victories under his belt. Unlike those simple-minded football players hoping for scholarships, he had actual talent – abilities and gifts that were well-honed and would be coveted by some of the best schools in the country. He commanded the respect of the student body just as efficiently as he commanded each section of his band on the field. They all worshipped him like a god, and he regarded them as his adoring, but hardly worthy, admirers. He was above each of them. They wanted to go to college, sure, but with what purpose? He had dreams and goals, and he would excel. The rest of them would simply be.

Especially those absurd mascots – that irritatingly peppy duo bearing the monikers Bolt and Spark. The students loved them simply because they added so-called personality to the boorish football program. When the band performed so the cheerleaders – those shameless, fake-baked hussies – could shake their asses for the audience Academy Prep's very own mascots were right there, pumping up the crowd and flipping like acrobats. He didn't understand the appeal – they were modeled off the horses that pulled Apollo's chariot (which made absolutely no sense), with their fiery eyes and manes against fake white fur, giant heads hiding the two clowns beneath. Even thinking about the men behind the masks, Len McCoy and Jim Kirk, caused Spock's blood pressure to skyrocket.

McCoy was a little more tolerable than Kirk; he was more reserved, quiet and studious outside the uniform, endearing and harmless when he interacted with the crowds. His dark eyes watched everything as he leaned against his locker, missing nothing with a quiet grace that girls of every age loved. His body was athletic – wiry and rippling with muscle that proved power. His trademark move, turning flips off the stands, never failed to get a gasp from every fan, home and away alike. He didn't speak much, but when he did, it was with a slow-as-molasses Southern drawl, inherited from somewhere in Georgia. Spock couldn't find much fault with him, except that he was always with that damned Jim Kirk, and that was fault enough.

Kirk was the golden boy, in every sense of the word: his father had been the unlikely hometown hero years ago, leading Academy Prep to the biggest championship victory they had ever experienced. The back-up quarterback with the perfect arm, he had won the hearts and souls of countless townspeople, only to win them over more when he went to the war and got himself killed in a suicide mission. Jim had inherited his father's good looks – blonde hair that looked good no matter how many hours he spent under that mask, and blue eyes that twinkled endlessly with boyish mischief and charm – and cultivated his own set of superb crowd-pleasing skills. He was the talkative side to McCoy's strong and steady. When he crowd surfed, he did it with such grace and ease that Spock was almost jealous, if he wasn't trying to wrangle his band back into playing position. Kirk was a menace, an attention whore and troublemaker to boot. He was sure there wasn't a cheerleader that hadn't seen the inside of his mask, and taken an inside look into much more.

Spock's blood boiled to think of all the time he put into perfecting each and every step taken by The Pride of Academy Prep, only to have it ruined by the antics of those two. While McCoy seemed like an unlikely candidate for an attention whore, he was always available for a picture or two with the fans, and when Kirk said jump, he did – in perfect precision, right into an immaculate standing back flip.

Stepping in time to the beat of the piece they were to perform at tonight's Homecoming game, Spock marched past the gymnasium and into the locker rooms. There were spaces sectioned off – football players, male marchers, and mascots. He tried not to wrinkle his nose as he walked through the football teams' part of the locker room and made a beeline for his belongings. He wanted to check the fit of his newly-tailored pants one more time; tonight was very special. Nyota Uhura, one of his flutists, was a candidate for Homecoming Queen, and she had asked him to escort her. Spock was honored and determined to look his absolute best. He was on his way to the restroom to try on his uniform when whispering caught his ear.

"Ow. I said _ow, _damnit. Quit pullin' so hard."

Dark eyebrows knitted together as a scowl crossed Spock's face. If he found out that one of his marchers was skipping class, he would ban them from the evening's festivities. Marching band was not to be taken lightly. He was prepared to turn the corner and reprimand the culprits, when he heard a thud and a much clearer, very recognizable voice.

"_Don't_ pull away from me like that, Bonesy. You know I won't go easy on you."

Spock's hand flew to his mouth as he stifled a gasp.

Kirk and McCoy!

The sounds of rough panting and the shifting of fabric caught Spock's ear.

"D-don't…don't leave a mark. Not until after the game. You p-promised you'd—" McCoy sounded worked up, almost like he had just finished exercising.

"I won't leave a mark, Bones, but I've just _got_ to taste you." There was a wet sound, like the sound a tongue makes when dragged between wet lips, and McCoy groaned.

"F-fuck, Jim, we could get caught."

"Naw, everyone's in class. We won't have company for another half-hour, at least." Another wet sound, this time like slurping, and McCoy cried out. Spock's hand shook as he realized he was growing hard in his school slacks.

"You like that?" Kirk's voice was low, husky and wanton. "God, wanna make you scream, Bones. Wanna smell you after a game, all dripping sweat and adrenaline high. You know how much I love to watch you move on that field? Gets me hard every time. Gonna scar a kid one of these days." McCoy cried out again, and Kirk cooed in approval. "That's it, Bones. Get right there on the edge and stay there." Spock heard the sounds of someone standing and a zip being done. "My beautiful boy. God, Bones, you should see yourself. Now, you know the rules – perform extra good tonight, and I'll make you so happy you did."

There were some soft sounds, wet noises that Spock knew to be kissing. His face was burning. Slowly, quietly, he turned to make his escape, praying they wouldn't catch him. From the quiet whispers and sighs, he knew his presence hadn't been detected.

Once outside of the locker room, he leaned heavily against the wall and gulped air, trying to retain composure. _Kirk and McCoy? Lovers? _It seemed plausible, but highly unlikely until this moment. Kirk was such a playboy, and McCoy so distant… Spock staggered over the water fountain and let the cold water run down his throat as he drank deeply. His imagination plied him with images of what Kirk might have been doing to McCoy… His pulse raced with the very thought of it.

The locker room door swung open and the two of them came spilling out into the hall, laughing and shoving each other like puppies. They froze when they saw him there, watched him as he watched them. They didn't make sense – McCoy's eyes narrowed with suspicion and apprehension, while Kirk's eyes were wide, hungry. The look in those crystalline orbs made Spock's head swim. McCoy tugged on Kirk's arm, pulling him past Spock into the gym. Kirk shot a blinding smile at Spock before turning to McCoy and whispering something in his ear. McCoy grunted and jerked away, shooting one last uneasy glare at Spock before slipping through the gym doors. Jim followed, laughing.

Spock could only watch them go, a strange heat spreading down his spine.

* * *

><p>"<em>A-C-A-D-E-M-Y! Academy, Academy, we shout with all our might! Off we march to battle, home we go, renewed! We'll fight with all our might for Academy! Victory is proved!" <em>

The joyous sounds of student and alumni voices alike filled the air as the football team rushed onto the field. Hikaru Sulu had done it once again – a beautiful victory for Academy Prep against their long-time rivals, Narada. Across the field, Spock could see Nero, Narada's own award-winning drum major, fuming while his marchers silently packed up their instruments. Swallowing a well-earned smirk, Spock nodded politely to each alumnus that came by to congratulate him on the beautifully executed performance at half-time. They had performed a medley of songs requested by the student body: I Gotta a Feelin', leading into Born This Way, and the _pièce de résistance, _a full two minutes of Thriller, complete with zombie-marching and many, many high steps. Spock watched as several clarinets all received praise from their parents for the program; they might have hated him during summer rehearsals, but they loved him here, now, when their friends and families adored every minute of the performance. While he didn't think much of the music choices submitted by his peers, he had to admit that they were crowd-pleasers. Popular tunes combined with his artful choreography made for a very happy crowd indeed.

A bright flash of color caught his peripheral and he turned just in time to see Bolt and Spark perform their trademark back flips in perfect unison. The crowd whooped and cheered at the sight of the two oddly-colored ponies dancing and celebrating among the cheerleaders and football players. Normally too busy with the band to notice the mascots' antics, Spock found himself watching now, mesmerized by the way they moved in perfect sync. They anticipated each other so completely that the perfectly rehearsed routine seemed spontaneous.

Spock wondered, flushing, if their unison had anything to do with their tryst in the locker room. From the sound of McCoy's pleading, and the way that they always hung around one another, Spock didn't think that what he had overheard had been the first encounter. It was very possible that he had stumbled in on some kind of pre-game ritual.

What's more, he was sure that there would be a follow-up. Kirk had promised: _…perform extra good tonight, and I'll make you so happy you did…_

A shiver trickled down Spock's spine. Would he go to the lockers after everyone had left, to catch them in the act? Would he be daring enough to hide somewhere where he could see every touch, every illicit kiss? Could his carefully constructed self-control handle such a show?

Principal Archer was tugging on his arm, pulling him over to a gathering of students and adults, a photograph for the school paper. Sulu was there, sweaty and glowing in his hard-fought victory, and Nyota, looking radiant in her Homecoming Queen tiara. Spock gave her a small congratulatory smile; of all the candidates, she was the most deserving. Her King, Montgomery Scott, captain of the soccer team, waved at Spock, but was too engrossed in a conversation about Manchester vs. Spain with Pavel Chekov, the sports reporter for the _Academy Herald,_ to offer a better greeting. Chekov was trying to keep up, but his eyes kept drifting to Sulu and his grass-stained uniform.

"Just waiting on those two clowns – Bolt! Spark! Let's go, gentlemen, we don't have all night!" Archer called. The assembly laughed as the two mascots raced pell-mell over the field, pretending to trip all over the place in their eagerness. They took their places behind the group, Spark standing directly behind Spock's right shoulder. As the group stood and smiled Chekov's camera, Spock felt a warm body press against him, and felt deft fingers slip into his back pocket. Before he could pull away, the fingers were gone and everyone was making their way towards the school, to change and go home to rest before the dance tomorrow night.

In what seemed like an absurdly short amount of time, Spock was left standing alone on the football field, hearing cars pull out of the parking lot, but from far away, like he was in a different world. His trembling fingers reached into his pocket and found what had been placed there: a slip of paper, torn from one of the cheerleading banners. With uncharacteristically shaky hands, he opened the note and read the words written in Kirk's unmistakable, impeccable handwriting:

_Locker rooms, 30 min after last person leaves. Join us? _

Swallowing heavily, Spock tore the note into miniscule pieces and cast it to the wind to be mixed with the rest of the game debris. Smoothing down his uniform jacket, he went to meet his parents and congratulate the last of his marchers. He would send them all home, and then double back under the pretense of wanting to double-check that everything was picked up and packed away.

Then maybe, just maybe, he would see what Kirk had to offer.

* * *

><p>He barely waited until the last freshman let the door swing behind him before crowding Len up against the lockers, breathing in deep the smell of grass, sweat, athletic tape, and adrenaline. Len's hair curled dark under his ear, against the nape of his neck, and Jim twisted the strands between his fingers, nosing right against the shell of Len's ear. "You were <em>fantastic<em> tonight," he breathed, loving the tremors that ran through the older boy's body. "God, when you goofed off for those kids, I thought I was going to jump you under the stands. You're just too damn cute for your own good, Bones." He reached down and caught Len's hands in his own, pulling them up over the senior's head. "What am I going to do when you graduate?"

"Find someone else to manhandle, I reckon." That deep, syrupy, _gasping_ drawl had Jim's body coming to attention in all the right places. As much as he would have loved to coerce Len to follow him back to his mom's place, up into Jim's room where Len could fuck him silly, he had other plans tonight. Len would need a little…convincing, but Jim would see to it that he was pliant and pleasant for their guest. Smirking wickedly, he caught Len's lips in a vicious kiss, starting rough and quick before working down to slow and simmering. Before meeting Len McCoy, Jim had only ever considered the female gender his type. One look from those dark, soulful eyes and a word from those lips and Jim melted. He was pleasantly surprised to find out that the older boy was only too happy to give up all control with just a little bit of a fight.

They were content to kiss like that for a while, until the heat of the night's game caught up to them and Len tried to regain control. It started with him tugging on his hands, trying to pull them out of Jim's grip and wind them in the junior's hair. When Jim bit him softly in reprimand, he grunted and tugged harder. Finally Jim rolled his eyes in annoyance and released Len's hands, only to spin him around and press him face-first against the locker doors.

"Goddamnit, Jim, lemme go, you brat," Len muttered, rolling his hips obscenely against Jim's. The younger boy didn't bother to bite back his moan, choosing instead to nip at Len's nape.

"Don't act like you don't love this, Bones," Jim breathed hotly against Len's ear, and he felt the senior go rigid against him. He smiled victoriously and wrapped his lips around the lobe, suckling like a newborn at the soft skin. Len's groans filled the room, accompanied by the sharp, metallic sounds of his fingernails scrabbling for purchase on the locker doors.

A few seconds of rutting against the lockers, and Jim was almost worked up to the point of completion. His mind, while hazy, reminded him that the show was just beginning. Reluctantly, he pulled away, smirking when Len turned, gaze hungry and wanting. "Why…did you…stop?" the older boy gasped, reaching for Jim. The blonde boy danced away, his eyes dark with promise and lust.

"Showers, Bones," Jim murmured, noting the shiver that wracked Len's body. "And strip while you're at it. Slowly," he added quickly as Len's fingers scrabbled frantically over his mascot uniform, anxious to remove all traces of damned clothes from his body. The dark look he received was worth it as Len's hands slowed and carefully peeled off his uniform, piece by piece. Jim gazed on hungrily as inches of rippling muscles were revealed under lightly-freckled skin. One of the reasons Jim had pursued Len so heavily from the very start was that the older boy was downright _stunning. _The body, the voice, and the brain of a neurosurgeon made Len McCoy a hot commodity, and Jim had been smart to snatch the boy up while he could. His hard work had paid off – two years later, Jim, the junior with the dirtiest mind in Academy Prep, had Len, the senior with the southern morals, naked and shivering in the men's locker room, cock hard and dripping between his legs as he waited for instructions.

"Perfect," Jim said quietly, stepping up to a panting Len. He lifted his face, ice-blue irises nearly eradicated by a lust-blown pupil as he went in for a kiss. Len obliged him, wrapping the younger boy in strong arms as they struggled to make it into the showers. Len's fingers dug into Jim's hips, reaching under his mascot jersey to scratch at golden skin. Jim hissed and arched into Len's embrace, fingers twisted into the older boy's dark hair. They nipped and struggled for control, even though it was obvious to both who would win. Len wrenched Jim's jersey off and pushed impatiently at his pants, desperate for skin-to-skin contact. Jim huffed a laugh and stepped out of his pants, but grabbed Len's hands when they went for his boxer-briefs.

"Turn," Jim commanded. Len looked close to arguing before Jim put his impressive upper body strength to good use and spun the senior, crowding him against the shower stall wall. Jim bit a series of kisses across Len's shoulders as he reached for the faucet, making sure the water was sufficiently warm before kneeling down under the spray.

"What're you gonna—_oh_," Len moaned as Jim grabbed his hips and used his thumbs to spread the other boy nice and wide. Of all of Len's assets, Jim probably enjoyed this the most. The anticipatory whimpers that escaped Len just made Jim's cock harden even more and he sucked a hickey into the smooth expanse of skin of Len's back. The younger boy worked his way down until he reached that little pink hole. Len's fingers scrabbled for purchase against the tile wall, but he couldn't keep quiet when he felt Jim's tongue, hot and _perfect_, administering little kittenish licks. He could remember the first time Jim ever ate him out like this – he had come without a single touch to his cock, swearing and shaking through his orgasm while Jim jerked off over his back. That had been last year after prom and Len still got hard thinking about it. It was then that Jim had nicknamed him "Bones," for no better reason than he looked so hot with come streaked across his back that Jim just wanted to constantly jump his bones. It was a ridiculous reason, but the memory now made Len ache. He was about to thrust his hips back and beg for more when he heard a soft cough.

Len nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned and saw their stoic, snotty drum major, standing just out of reach of the shower spray so as to avoid dampening his immaculate uniform. Len almost smirked at that – after all, he and Jim manage to put on a pretty good show and he could see the tent in Spock's pants – but then Jim did a swirly-stabby-sucking thing with his mouth and tongue and Len's knees nearly gave out beneath him. He gasped for air, letting it all out in one, drawn-out moan that was practically sinful. He was seeing spots as Jim told Spock to remove his clothes, speaking loudly to be heard over the spray of water. Len looked over with hazy eyes, watched as the color bloomed high in Spock's cheeks, how he looks back at the pair of them, lustful and disapproving all at once before nodding curtly and disappearing to remove his clothes. Jim cackled, nipped Len's left buttock and resumed eating him out with a vengeance. Jim had just started running his fingernails up and down the back of Len's thighs, really getting into it and just about to make Len come when suddenly his mouth is gone and there's a different heat pressed against Len's back.

He turned his head and there was Jim, ready to greet him with a hot, wet kiss that melted Len for the umpteenth time. He whimpered into the kiss, ready to demand that Jim bend him over a bench and fuck him silly, when he felt a set of cool lips press the against the nape of his neck, working their way to the top of his spine. Shivers scampered through every pore of his skin as he felt Spock's fingers tracing gentle circles around his hole. He groaned, bit Jim's lips viciously as one slim digit entered him, aided by the lubrication of Jim Kirk's spit. The practically dry, almost-painful burn goes straight to Len's cock and he moans again, loud and long. Behind him, he heard Spock's breath hitch, felt straight white teeth sink into his shoulder. Jim handed Spock something and there was a moment of pause as every boy in the room tried to catch his breath and failed, horribly. Finally, the finger returned, slick and perfect as it reached up, up, _up_, found Len's prostate and _stroked._

Len came, spurting all over the shower wall, crying out as Jim reached around and gripped the head of his cock in an iron fist. Spock pressed another kiss, to the side of Len's neck this time. Len could faintly hear him murmuring something, so quietly Jim wouldn't hear, but Len could have guessed. He would have wagered his entire tuition to Ole Miss that Spock was wondering what in the _hell_ he was doing in the boys' locker room after the Homecoming game, fucking Len McCoy over a shower stall while Jim Kirk conducted the entire affair more smoothly than Spock could run a show out on that field. Len wanted to laugh, once he managed to regain his breath. He felt Spock's finger slip out of him, felt the nudge of the other boy's prick nudge up against the place where his ass met his legs. Lust flared through Len faster than he was ready and he nearly fell into Spock's arms once he got himself turned around.

The look of smug satisfaction on Jim's face was almost too much to bear, so Len smirked right back at him and cupped his hand 'round the back of Spock's neck. "Bear with me," he whispered, lips so close that the words were painted across Spock's skin before Len pulled him into a kiss so filthy, the shower started pouring water harder in an attempt to do its job properly.

Jim's gasp echoed throughout the room, and when Len got his hand wrapped around Spock's erection, the other senior dug his fingers into Len's shoulders and _clutched._ Len stroked in strong, confident strokes, cupping Spock's balls and rolling them between his fingers once he figured out how much Spock liked the action. Dark eyes watched him steadily, only closing every so often to drown in the pleasure Len was giving; he had no doubts about his abilities. If it could shut Jim up, it was damn good, thank you very much.

Glancing to the left, Len caught the sight of Jim leaning under the showerhead, stroking himself frantically, eyes glued to Len's hand around Spock's cock. His briefs were nowhere to be found. Len's smirk grew as he dropped to his knees, slurped Spock into his mouth with all the practice of a seasoned whore. He knew what he looked like – Jim had taken pictures of him like this once, alternative senior pictures to put in the yearbook. With his lips flush around the base of Spock's cock, and the head buried deep in his throat, Len McCoy closed his eyes and _sucked_.

He could feel Spock's moan reverberate all the way down. Jim moaned and reached out, stroking down Len's head until he could feel the bulge of Spock's cock against Len's cheek. They stayed connected like that, Len sucking Spock, Jim touching Len, and Spock accepting the kisses Jim so ardently gave, until Spock's fingers tightened in Len's hair and shot a load, hot and salty, down his throat. Jim cried out and came, splashing over Len's dark hair and freckled shoulders. They stayed still like that for some time until it was too uncomfortable to remain together. The three of them helped each other wash off, Len swearing silently at a snickering Jim for the come in his hair while Spock looked shell-shocked, like he still couldn't believe what he had done.

Afterwards, dressing in the locker room, Len watched Spock carefully, making sure that the drum major wasn't going to pass out on them or anything. He did up his button fly, carefully pulled on his black t-shirt over his wet hair and sat down to pull on his boots.

"I must say, Spock, you don't disappoint," Jim said, rubbing lotion over his bare chest. Spock didn't respond, just went ahead and kept getting dressed. Jim grinned, shook his head, and kept on going. "I mean, when I first suggested it to Bones, he was reluctant," Len looked up in time to see Jim shoot him one of those patented sex-filled glances, the kind that got you hard in under three seconds flat, "but once you got in there and showed him what you could do, I'd be willing to bet that he doesn't have any more qualms about you."

"Don't listen to him," Len growled to Spock. "He's a damn fool, running his mouth off all the time."

"This damn fool is damn good, thank you," Jim shot back, buttoning his shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone to show off the tops of his pectorals. Len's mouth watered.

"Why me?" Spock said finally, quietly, so much so that Len barely heard him. Jim did, though, and beamed, all school-boy enthusiasm and charm. He leaned against the locker, watched as Spock ran a comb through his dark hair.

"Because we like you; you, who present such a challenge in all your stoicism but crumbled like the Tower of Babel when presented with Bones' sweet ass." Len growled at that, but let it go.

"I could have said no," Spock insisted. Len almost snorted at that. Saying no to Jim Kirk was like kicking a puppy; it couldn't and _shouldn't _be done.

Jim shook his head and let out a long breath. "Honestly, it was either you or Sulu, and I'm pretty sure Chekov is already tapping that."

"How do you know Sulu isn't tappin' him? I'd tap Chekov," Len remarked idly. The scandal that crosses Spock's face makes the two mascots laugh and they all traipse out of the locker room together. Just outside the building, Jim pulls Spock into a searing kiss, thrusting his tongue in and out of the older boy's mouth like he already owns it. Len watched, amused. He was satisfied to just shake Spock's hand, and gives him a wink before tugging Jim down the sidewalk towards his car; Jim just lives a few blocks away, so Len naturally gives him a ride home.

Spock watches the two of them go, feeling his control of the situation, and his carefully constructed apathy, slowly slip away.

He can only imagine how the pair celebrates Prom.


End file.
